


Two Cups of Sugar

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Netherlands), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: The guy has been coming in every other day for the last few months, usually in the morning around ten o’clock—not that Lucas has noticed and started to anticipate ten o’clock rolling around. Lucas still doesn’t know his name, even though Isa has offered to ask. He doesn’t know anything about him except that he’s not picky when it comes to pastries and has tried practically everything in the shop at least once.AKA the bakery AU I said I would not write and then... did.
Relationships: Jens Stoffels/Lucas van der Heijden
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Two Cups of Sugar

Lucas doesn’t glance up from the cake he’s adding the finishing touches to, delicate pink frosted petals and golden swirls on every layer, a bride and groom perched on the top, as the doorbell jingles and Isa bustles inside, shaking water off her jacket.

“Brr, it’s cold out there,” she huffs, hooking her coat up on the rack just inside the glass door, leaving a trail of wet shoe prints as she crosses the small front area of the bakery to the counter where Lucas finally glances up.

The few tables pressed against the windows are empty this afternoon, covered in little white tablecloths, decorated with red and white candles that mirror the miniature wreaths hanging from the tops of the windows with candy canes glued to them. Outside, the sky is growing darker as the afternoon stretches on and people bustle by the window, hands filled with last-minute Christmas shopping.

“Well, it is winter,” he drawls, returning to his cake. It’s almost done, and thank God because the Janssen wedding is tomorrow.

Isa ignores him as she rounds the counter and grabs one of the last bossche bols and takes a bite. Whipped cream oozes from the pastry and Lucas rolls his eyes as she licks it from her fingers.

“Classy.”

“Did you have lunch today?” she asks, plucking at his apron strings. “Because you seem grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Lucas argues. He just has to finish this cake and then he’ll get to go home to his flat and get some much-needed sleep. Even though the bakery only stays open until the last few pastries are sold, he’s had to stay later as Christmas approaches. “And yes, I had lunch.”

“But lunch where you actually left? Not sat in the corner by the fridge and ate half a sandwich?” Isa asks, as though she knows. And she probably does since it’s what Lucas does every day.

Huffing, he adds the final finish to the cake—a few golden swirls around the bride and groom’s feet. “Why ask if you already know the answer?”

Isa arches an eyebrow, not bothering to help Lucas as he carefully slides the cake off the counter. “I told you you need some help, at least around the holidays.”

“I can’t afford help at this stage,” Lucas reminds her, moving slowly, very careful not to drop the cake as he moves it to the cart sitting beside him. “It’s only been a year. Most businesses don’t even make a profit until their second year.”

It would be nice, he thinks, as he wheels the cake to the back, to have someone to at least watch the front. Isa comes in sometimes, but she has an actual job and it’s not like he can pay her for the help. Maybe next year. Maybe next year, he will have established himself as more than just the new bakery on the block.

As he wheels the cake into the walk-in, he sighs in the cold. He’s very much looking forward to going back to his tiny flat, opening a beer and spending the evening watching old Christmas movies on TV.

He hears the door swing open to the back and he turns, resigned. He still has to close up.

“He’s back!” Isa catches him at the door to the fridge, eyes wide, far too excited. Maybe all that chocolate went to her head.

“Who?” he asks, surprised as Isa grabs his arm and drags him over to the door, the round little window looking back into the front.

“Your favorite customer,” she says, smirking as Lucas rolls his eyes but looks out the window anyway.

Lucas doesn’t _have_ favorite customers, but the guy standing at the counter, pulling the zipper up and down his coat idly, couldn’t be considered one. He’s handsome, with dark hair and a sharp jaw, hazel eyes that crinkle at the edges when he smiles. And he does smile a lot, particularly at Lucas.

“He’s just a customer,” he reminds Isa even though his heart is beating a little faster as he takes off his apron and smooths down his shirt.

“So you flirt with every customer who looks like that?” Isa asks, and it’s another question she already knows the answer to.

The guy has been coming in every other day for the last few months, usually in the morning around ten o’clock—not that Lucas has noticed and started to anticipate ten o’clock rolling around. Lucas still doesn’t know his name, even though Isa has offered to ask. He doesn’t know anything about him except that he’s not picky when it comes to pastries and has tried practically everything in the shop at least once.

Lucas assumes he works in some sort of office judging by the tie, but he’s never gotten up the courage to ask. Or maybe it’s just never been the right time to ask.

“Don’t leave him waiting,” Isa says as Lucas gazes out the window at how the guy glances around at the holiday decorations everywhere.

He doesn’t need her little shove as he steps through the swinging door into the front. His heart does pulse when the guy’s eyes land on him and he immediately smiles.

“Thank God you’re here,” the guy says, and it takes Lucas aback slightly. Where else would he be? He owns the place.

“Do you need something?” Not his smoothest line, but Lucas determinedly doesn’t grimace at himself as the guy hesitates.

“You’re probably going to say no,” the guy says, and Lucas can’t help the nerves building up inside him. This guy’s going to ask him out. Finally.

As much as he may tell Isa that he doesn’t have favorites, that this guy is just another customer, he can’t deny that he’s attractive. And he’s funny. And he’s cute. And Lucas hasn’t gone on a date in months, so he might just be desperate enough to go out with a stranger.

The guy bites his lower lip, seemingly choosing his words. “The thing is, my friend is having an engagement party and I told him all about those amazing little cake things you had in here and he asked if I would get some for the party, and I totally forgot.” He grimaces, and Lucas just stares.

Cakes?

“The party is… tonight,” the guy goes on as Lucas blinks at him, stupidly. “And I know this is crazy and really last-minute but I’m an idiot and it’s the only thing he asked me to do for the party and I can’t fuck this up or he’ll ask Aaron to be his best man and that’s _not_ gonna happen.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lucas hears himself ask. The guy is definitely not asking him out. He’s asking him to… make cakes?

The guy’s eyes widen, almost pleading, leaning over the glass. “I need a hundred of those little mini-cake things you usually make with the pink icing and the little white frosting bow.”

“You mean petits-fours,” Lucas says slowly, as though his brain isn’t processing this.

“Yes, that! I need a hundred by, like, six-thirty.”

“Si—” Lucas stops himself, his head reeling as the guy smiles hopefully. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

It’s only a couple hours away and Lucas has never made that many that fast. It takes time for them to cool, to ice all of them, to decorate them. He’s not one of those bakers you see on TV that can do that. He likes to take his time with the delicate pastries, to get them just right, especially if they’re for a party or a wedding or something where lots of people will see and eat them.

The guy shakes his head as though he’d known this would happen, eyebrows creased with worry, and Lucas wants to say something to make him feel better, but he doesn’t know what. If he’d asked him yesterday, then maybe…

“What if I helped you?”

Lucas’ gaze snaps up to the guy’s, confused. “Helped me?”

“Yeah!” The guy is far more enthusiastic about the idea than Lucas feels. “I can read a recipe and I take direction really well. You just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Lucas hesitates. He prefers to work alone when it comes to baking. Also, he’s not really sure how much help this guy could be, even if he is pretty. That might even be more of a distraction for Lucas.

“I don’t—” he starts to say, but the guy shakes his head.

“I’ll pay you double.”

It’s that and the guy’s earnest expression, desperate, hopeful, that breaks Lucas down and he pauses.

“I don’t know if we can do it all,” he says, but the guy grins immediately.

“Any amount we can get done is great! I just can’t come to this party empty-handed.”

Lucas must be crazy, he thinks as he nods finally and the guy beams at him. He’s letting a stranger into his kitchen, letting him bake—okay, letting him stir, _maybe_ frost something if he isn’t totally hopeless. For what? Money? Or maybe because he just can’t resist a charming smile.

Either way. It’s insane but he’s doing it.

He’s sure it’s not a coincidence that Isa finally emerges from the back as Lucas stands awkwardly behind the counter, wondering what to do next, rolling up the sleeves on his button-down and chewing on his bottom lip.

“Did he get you all taken care of?” she asks the guy, ignoring the side-eye Lucas is giving her.

“He’s a saint,” the guy says, and Lucas looks away at the tiny thrill in his chest. He’s got to get a grip or he’ll never get out of here alive.

Isa laughs, eyes shining when Lucas finally glares at her. “I guess I’ll lock up, Luc, huh?”

Lucas doesn’t reply as she heads to do just that. Instead, he rolls his eyes and heads for the swinging door to let the guy back behind the counter.

“Luc?” the guy asks as he brushes past Lucas, a bit too close, and Lucas sucks in his stomach.

“Lucas,” he mutters, stepping away, towards the back.

“I’m Jens,” the guy offers, trailing behind Lucas, gazing around curiously as they enter the backside of the bakery.

It’s not very interesting back here between the all the stainless steel—appliances, counter tops, cabinets. It’s definitely not as festive at the front of the store, but Lucas turns on the radio in the corner just so they won’t have to listen to silence. A Christmas song plays quietly behind them as Lucas busies himself collecting the ingredients they’ll need.

“I gotta warn you,” Jens says as Lucas sets the flour on the counter and pulls over one of the mixers, “I usually leave the baking to my sisters. I’m much better with things you can cook outside.”

“Like hot dogs?” Lucas asks, confused, rummaging for the measuring cups.

“Sure,” Jens says, laughing, coming up beside Lucas and watching him. It’s weird, having another person back there. Lucas is so used to being alone in the early hours of the morning, weighing out ingredients, making sure all the timings are perfect, singing along to the radio with no one there to make fun of how badly he sings. “I definitely don’t have your talents.”

Lucas jerks his shoulder, glancing over at Jens, who drums his fingers against the counter. “I’m not that good.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve gained, like, five kilos since I found this place.”

Lucas feels the faint blush on his cheeks and looks away, trying to focus on the ingredients. They really need to get started if they’re going to make a hundred perfect petits-fours by six-thirty.

“Here,” he says, shoving the bag over to Jens. “Measure out 360 grams of flour, two times. We’re gonna double the recipe.”

“I can do that,” Jens assures him, and Lucas bites back his smile as he turns to the oven and sets the temperature. As Jens measures, watching the scale carefully, Lucas gets the rest of the ingredients. “So did you, like, go to school for this?”

“I did two years in Paris,” Lucas says, glancing at Jens, the way Jens nods approvingly.

“Wow. I think it would take me that long just to figure out what all these utensils are for,” he says, gesturing at the many spatulas and spreaders in holders lined up behind the counter.

“Most of those are for decorating,” Lucas says, but he smiles as Jens nods again.

Returning to the mixer, Lucas is much quicker than Jens measuring out his ingredients, but he’s made this recipe a thousand times. He’s got everything ready to go as Jens hands over the bowl of flour.

“We’ll just let this mix really quick,” he says, turning on the mixer and Jens peers over his shoulder to watch, as though intrigued. Lucas freezes with the warmth of Jens practically pressed to his back. For a second, he doesn’t dare move, not wanting Jens to move away.

Okay, fine, he _does_ have favorite customers and Jens is it. He always comes in with a smile, always says something funny, always leans over the counter and watches Lucas lean all the into the display for his pastry. Lucas doesn’t know if he does it on purpose, but he doesn’t really mind.

“You could butter the pans,” he says after a second, barely audible, and he hears Jens’ soft, “Hmm?” in his ear. “Butter the pans,” he repeats.

“Butter the pans,” Jens says, even slower, sounding confused as Lucas finally turns to face him, bumping into him slightly. They’re too close considering there’s plenty of space in the kitchen.

“So the cakes don’t stick,” Lucas says, and he’s not sure they’re entirely talking about cakes as Jens pauses.

“Okay?”

Clearing his throat, Lucas gives himself a shake, sliding out from in front of Jens, though he kind of hates to, but what is he going to do, really? He barely knows this guy. 

He grabs several sheet pans and holds them up.

“Ohh,” Jens says as though a lightbulb has gone off. “Butter the pans. I got it.”

Lucas smiles despite himself, grabbing a stick of butter off the counter. He hands it and a pan to Jens.

“Make sure you get the whole thing. After it’s buttered, sprinkle some flour on it.”

Jens nods seriously. “I won’t let you down.”

Turning away, Lucas bites back his smile as he checks the batter. As much as he’d been looking forward to escaping to his flat after closing, he’s thinking this isn’t too bad a way to spend the evening either.

*

“While that’s baking, we can start on the buttercream,” Lucas says, setting the timer and turning to Jens behind him.

“Perfect,” Jens says, eager, “how do we do that?”

“Well, we need another mixer,” Lucas says, dumping the used bowl in the sink. He’s surprised by how smoothly this is all going. Jens hadn’t been lying—he does know how to follow directions, even if those directions are only measure and pour. It’s a lot more than some people can do. Kes spends the whole time asking for raw cookie dough when Lucas tries to bake around him, and Isa just tries to lick the bowls.

As Lucas sets up the mixer and opens the pantry filled with ingredients, he glances over his shoulder at Jens, who is inspecting the mixer options.

“Why did you wait until so late to get these?” he can’t help asking, and Jens makes a face.

“Like I said, I’m an idiot? I don’t know why Robbe trusts me with anything, honestly.”

“He’s your friend, right?” Lucas asks, shrugging, and Jens nods.

“He’s my best friend. I’ve known him since we were kids. And now he’s getting married. Jesus.” He shakes his head.

Lucas pulls the icing sugar from the pantry and returns to the counter, glancing at Jens. “It’s not the end of the world, is it?”

“Of course not,” Jens says, putting on a playful smile. “I guess I always knew they’d get married. I just didn’t think, I don’t know, that I’d feel this way.”

Lucas isn’t sure if he should ask. It’s none of his business, after all. He barely knows Jens. They’ve spent all of half an hour together.

“What way?” he says anyway, watching how Jens huffs a little, not necessarily annoyed, more like he doesn’t know the answer.

“I _know_ that Robbe getting married isn’t going to change anything. He’s been with Sander forever. It’s just starting to feel like it’s the beginning of the end, you know? Soon, everybody’s gonna be married.”

“And you’ll be all alone?” Lucas guesses. He doubts anyone as hot as Jens would be alone for long. Lucas, on the other hand, is pretty sure he’ll never find a boyfriend that lasts longer than a couple months. That’s been his record so far, which isn’t very impressive.

“Maybe,” Jens mutters, shrugging, coming up to the counter next to Lucas, watching him measure out the sugar. “I haven’t had much luck with dating lately.”

“Me neither,” Lucas offers, catching Jens’ eye.

“Oh, come on,” Jens says, nudging his shoulder. “You? I bet people hit on you all the time and you don’t notice.”

If that’s true, Lucas doesn’t know it, and he shrugs, swallowing as Jens’ fingers brush against his as Jens beats him to the butter and hands it over.

“I doubt it,” he says, looking away to the mixer.

“You might be surprised,” Jens says, and Lucas feels his heart thud, once, in his chest, like it knows something he doesn’t.

“Um,” he says, trying to get his thoughts back in order as he stares at the mixer. “Here, you come over here and start this mixing so I can work on the royal icing.”

“Okay,” Jens agrees, switching spots with him, peering into the bowl. “I just start it?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says quickly, trying not to get distracted by Jens’ adorable concentration as he flips the switch and the mixer starts creaming the butter.

“Now what?” Jens asks, eager, and Lucas tries not to laugh.

“Just pour in the icing sugar,” he says, nodding at a pre-measured bowl and turning back to the pantry. “Oh, you should do it sl—”

Lucas doesn’t finish his sentence before the sugar explodes in a puff of white in Jens’ face, blown back from the mixer.

“—owly,” he finishes with a grimace and Jens coughs a few times, wiping the white powder off his face.

“Figured that out,” Jens says, still wiping at his face, and Lucas grabs a towel.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching up to wipe the sugar off Jens’ forehead, dusting it off his cheeks. It’s settled in his hair, on his crumpled blue shirt, and Lucas only realizes what he’s doing as he gets to Jens’ nose.

Pulling his hand away, he holds out the towel instead, feeling his ears go hot. It’s Jens’ smile that makes it worse, half-tilted up, eyes knowing as he gazes at Lucas instead of looking where he’s wiping the towel.

“It’s cool,” Jens says after a second, and Lucas blinks away, turning to the mixer instead.

“We’ll just add some more,” he says as the mixer keeps going. “Does your friend prefer any particular flavors? We could put something in.”

“He’s not that picky,” Jens assures him, leaning a hip against the counter as Lucas tries to think. He’s trying to think about the buttercream and not how Jens has just looked at him. 

“What about peppermint? That’s Christmas-y. Or maybe black currant?”

Jens jerks his shoulders. “He’ll just be glad I didn’t completely screw up.”

“Orange!” Lucas says triumphantly. “Orange is perfect. And we can draw little oranges on top of the icing with holly leaves.”

“Seriously, Luc,” Jens says as Lucas goes to his bowl of fruit. Some orange zest will be the perfect addition to the frosting. “You don’t have to do that much.”

“I’m not sending something out that I wouldn’t put in the window,” he says, serious, handing Jens the orange. “Do you know how to zest?”

“I think I’m about to learn,” Jens says slowly, and Lucas doesn’t think as he puts the zester in Jens’ hand.

“It’s easy,” he says, raising the orange and handing it to Jens. “You just press it down and the zester does the work.”

He takes Jens’ hand holding the orange and runs it down the zester, scraping off the peel onto the counter.

“See?” he asks, glancing up to find Jens watching him, entirely too close, close enough that he can feel Jens’ breath on his neck. He hadn’t meant to get this close, to still have his hand covering Jens’, sparks of electricity creeping up his spine as Jens nods, eyes drifting down Lucas’ face.

Pulling away, Lucas ducks away from Jens and his wandering gaze.

“Okay, just do the whole thing.”

What is wrong with him? Two more seconds, and Lucas might have been sure there was mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Shaking himself, he returns to the pantry, more to gather himself than anything.

He isn’t sure what’s making him nervous—if it’s Jens or just that it’s been so long since he liked anyone and he’s forgotten what to do.

He’s got to stop acting like an idiot, he decides, taking a breath. They still have a long way to go on these cakes.

“How’s it looking?” he asks when he gets himself together, coming back to Jens’ side.

“Is that enough?” Jens asks, gesturing at the pile of perfectly-zested orange peel.

“It’s great,” Lucas says, nodding. “Just toss it in.”

“Slowly?” Jens asks carefully, eyebrows raised, and Lucas smiles as he nods.

“Slowly.”

*

The cakes are perfectly golden as Lucas flips them out onto a cooling rack and peels off the parchment paper. They’re soft and springy but firm as Lucas tests one.

“Is that good?” Jens asks, sounding only slightly worried, glancing at Lucas for confirmation.

“They’re good,” Lucas assures him. “They have to cool first. We’ll put them in the freezer. That should make it go faster.”

Jens hurries ahead of Lucas as he grabs the cakes, opening the door to the freezer. As Lucas slides them on a rack, Jens steps back.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” he asks, checking the clock on the wall.

“Hopefully,” Lucas allows, awkward now that there’s nothing to do but wait. He usually has something else to do while cakes cool, but not this time. “You wanna go sit?”

“Sure,” Jens agrees, following Lucas out of the back room and into the front.

It’s dark outside now, the street lit up by lamps and store lights reflecting off the wet ground. The bakery lights are off in the front and Lucas leaves them off as they slide into a couple of the chairs at one of the tables by the window.

As they sit there, Jens tugs at his tie, already loose, but he gets it all the way off now, tucking it in his pocket.

“Do you work nearby?” Lucas asks and Jens turns his gaze from the window.

“Yeah. It’s nothing exciting, though, not like making exquisite pastries.” He grins at Lucas across the table, head tilted cheekily to the side. “I spend most of my days making copies, filling out forms, emailing things.”

“People still email?” Lucas asks, curious.

“Realtors do,” Jens allows. “They also usually get to go out of the building, but it’s a large commercial firm and I haven’t worked my way up to principal yet. I mostly just do research.”

“At least you get to go in at a reasonable hour,” Lucas points out, twisting the candle on the table between his fingers. “I get here at four.”

“In the morning?” Jens asks, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “ _Why_?”

“Everything has to be made before I open.” Lucas shrugs. He doesn’t always mind getting up so early. In fact, he kind of likes those quiet mornings when the city hasn’t woken up yet, the grey twilight, a chill in the air. He’s gotten used to it.

“I had no idea,” Jens mutters, frowning at the candle Lucas is twisting around. “And I’m making you stay late. I bet you just want to go sleep.”

“No,” Lucas says quickly, too quickly. “I mean, I don’t mind. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

That gets a smile out of Jens, a little shake of his head.

“I really should have said something about the cakes before, like last week or something. It’s just, every time I come in here…”

“What?” Lucas asks, leaning back in his chair, trying to ignore the lump in his throat as Jens shakes his head again.

“I don’t know,” Jens says, watching Lucas intently. “I get distracted.”

“By the pastries?”

Jens hesitates but jerks his head. “Yeah, the pastries.”

Lucas isn’t sure that’s what Jens meant to say, but he doesn’t push it. “You’ve tried almost all of them.”

“I told you. Five kilos,” Jens says, patting his stomach that looks entirely flat to Lucas. “All your fault.”

“Sorry,” Lucas says, but he’s not really. And Jens seems to know as he smiles, biting his lip.

“I don’t regret it,” Jens assures him. “Although I might when I go home for Christmas and my mom asks what I’ve been eating. She’s a little bit of a health nut.”

“Does she live close?”

“Just across town,” Jens says with a shrug, and Lucas nods. He’s tried not to think too much about his own mother and the fact that he won’t see her for Christmas this year. She’s assured him multiple times that she’s fine with it, but he can’t help the guilt gnawing away at his stomach every time he thinks about it. “Are you going to close for Christmas?”

“Christmas Day, yeah,” Lucas says. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not even to see your family?”

“My mom’s back in the Netherlands,” he says, looking away from Jens, out to the dark street, lights reflected in puddles. It’s cold, but not cold enough to snow. “And I haven’t talked to my dad for a long time.”

For a while, no one talks, and Lucas glances up. Jens probably thinks he’s got weird family problems, which isn’t too far off from the truth, but they could at least wait to get into it until Lucas is sure Jens actually likes him.

“How long do we have to wait for the cakes?” Jens asks finally and the moment passes with a breath of relief from Lucas.

“Another few minutes,” he says and Jens nods as if he understands.

“I promise I won’t ever ask you to make this many cakes on such short notice again,” Jens says, and though Lucas smiles, he thinks that if Jens offered to help all the time, he’d gladly do it again.

*

The clock is ticking now, six-thirty creeping up much faster than before, and there’s not much Jens can do to help as Lucas cuts the cakes into perfect squares.

“It’s too bad we don’t have more time,” Lucas mutters down at the cake, careful with each pass of the knife. They can’t afford to mess this up now, not with the cakes already stacked. “We could candy some oranges for the tops. That would be perfect.”

“I don’t know how to do that, but I could try?” Jens offers from where he watches Lucas. “I’ve definitely learned more in the past few hours about baking than I’ve known in my whole life.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Lucas smiles. “Maybe you should screw up the desserts more often.”

“For your sake, I won’t,” Jens assures him, but he steps up behind Lucas, a hand brushing gently against his lower back. Lucas can feel it through his shirt, hot and tingling where the fingertips graze against him. “Is there anything I _can_ do to speed things up?”

It takes Lucas a second to focus, blinking, concentrating on the little squares of cake on the counter.

“Over on the shelf, there are some flat-pack boxes. You could put some together.” He barely nods toward the other side of the kitchen, feeling Jens hovering behind him.

“Sure,” Jens says, though, and Lucas lets out a breath as he finally steps away.

Lucas likes to think he knows when someone is flirting with him, but Isa would say he’s oblivious. Jens, though, Jens is definitely doing something, and Lucas likes it.

Forcing himself to focus, he starts lining up the exactly square pieces on the cooling rack. They have to get this done. six-thirty is almost here and he still has to glaze, let it harden, and do the last little bits of decoration before it can go out into the world. He won’t be satisfied with something half-assed.

“So you just pour it over?” Jens asks curiously as he returns, watching Lucas glaze the pieces. Icing drips through the rack and into the pan as he moves over each one. “It seems deceptively simple.”

Lucas laughs. “Deceptive is the right word.” He’s going as fast as he can—much faster than he usually does as he covers each piece with a thin layer of white glaze. He’s never made anything this fast in his life.

“You’ve got a little frosting,” Jens says when Lucas finally looks up from the tray, gesturing at his face and Lucas lifts a questioning hand to wipe it away.

He doesn’t know where it is, though, and when Jens reaches out, he doesn’t move. It’s just like those cheesy Christmas movies, he thinks as he stares at Jens, feels Jens’ fingers on his cheek, scraping away a bit of icing. The radio in the corner plays some old Christmas song, filling the momentary silence. If it starts snowing, Lucas swears that’s it.

Even after the frosting is gone, Jens lingers for a second, the tug of a smile on his lips as he gazes at Lucas. He’s only an inch or two taller than Lucas maybe, just enough that Lucas tilts his chin up a centimeter to keep his gaze. His heart thuds in his chest, suddenly nervous, and he takes a breath.

“We should get these in the fridge,” he hears himself say, breaking the moment, still too close to Jens.

“Right,” Jens agrees, but he doesn’t move, not quite yet. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Just a couple minutes,” Lucas breathes, almost wishing he hadn’t said anything as Jens finally steps back so he can grab the tray.

There is still plenty to do as Lucas sets up the rest of the icing, preparing the decorating bags, choosing between piping tips as Jens leans against the counter and watches.

“It’s gonna be close,” Jens says, glancing at the clock. “But I can be late. I’m always late. It won’t be a surprise.”

“We’re going to get these done by six-thirty,” Lucas assures him. “And they’re going to be right.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re a perfectionist?” Jens asks, smiling as Lucas raises his eyebrows.

“Just about everyone.”

“I suppose it’s a characteristic you want in a good pastry-maker,” Jens says, bumping Lucas’ elbow playfully, and Lucas can’t help smiling.

“Most people call it annoying.”

“Endearing is a better word,” Jens says and a rush of warm sweeps through Lucas’ stomach as he tries not to grin like an idiot. Jens thinks he’s endearing.

“Come on,” he says, clearing his throat after a second. “We’ve got to get these done.”

Jens is blissfully silent as Lucas starts his decorating. Each one needs to be uniform with a holly leaf and a little orange on the top. The icing slides on in thin ropes, and Lucas tries not to think about Jens right next to him, watching every loop, every shake of his hands. He needs to be steady.

Even with the radio, Lucas can hear the clock. Ticking. Ticking. Not every piece is hardened enough, the sides still a little sticky, and that’s going to be a problem trying to get them into the box.

“These look amazing,” Jens breathes as Lucas moves to the last row finally. He’s zoned out the clock, zoned out the radio, trying not to let the time crunch get to him.

The last piece seems to take forever, icing looping over the top like a ribbon. When he looks up, sharp, his gaze falls on the clock just as the minute hand ticks onto the six.

“Amazing,” Jens says as Lucas straightens up with a sigh of relief. “I owe you so much more than just money for this.”

Lucas can’t believe he did it either, glancing down at the petits-fours all over the counter. He’s never made so many in such a short amount of time.

“Let’s get them in the box and you can get going to your party.”

He can’t believe it’s over. It’s only been a few hours, but it felt much longer with Jens by his side, talking and joking, smiling at him like he’s doing right now. The fact that now he’ll go back to his empty flat and spend the rest of the night watching TV seems so sad by comparison.

“You should come with me,” Jens says as he helps Lucas set each piece in a paper liner and slides it into the box. At Lucas’ confused expression, Jens grins. “To the party. I owe you so much for this and there’s going to be so much booze and food at this thing.”

“Isn’t it an engagement party?” Lucas asks slowly, not because he doesn’t want to spend more time with Jens, but wouldn’t it be weird to just show up at someone else’s celebration?

“Robbe won’t care. Especially when he finds out you made all these.” Jens pauses, biting his lip as he watches Lucas. “Unless you’re tired and want to just go home. I totally understand. I did keep you here forever.”

It has been a long day, Lucas has to admit, but somehow, he wouldn’t trade it.

“If you think it’d be okay,” he says after a minute and Jens’ face lights up.

“Completely.”

There’s a smile on Lucas’ face as they get the last of the cakes in the box and Lucas dumps the utensils in the sink. He’ll regret it tomorrow, not cleaning them now, but they have a party to go to.

Out front, Lucas locks up the bakery, pulling his coat tighter as Jens holds the box of petits-fours and waits patiently. The night has turned colder, mist sticking to the windows, beginning to ice up the roads. Lucas wonders if he should have brought his gloves as they walk in the opposite direction of his flat, more into the tall buildings of the city.

Jens’ cheeks are pink from the cold, but he smiles when he catches Lucas’ eye. “It’s not far. They’re having it at some fancy building because Sander doesn’t know how to tone it down.”

The building is one of the old historic places and an elevator that must have been installed a hundred years ago as it creaks upward, to the top floor. A wave of nerves hits Lucas as the doors slide open and he wonders what he’s doing there. Sure, Jens invited him, and apparently that means he can’t say no. But he doesn’t know anyone here and he’s going to have to make small talk with strangers.

“Come on,” Jens says easily, nudging Lucas out of the elevator, his smile calming somehow.

The room they step into is vast, windows on every side, overlooking the glittering city. Inside is bright, decorated in white and silver, and Lucas wishes he’d known about the color scheme while making the pastries.

But there are little Christmas trees in the corners and garlands sparkling on the tabletops and Lucas thinks he spies an obviously empty spot on one clearly meant for desserts.

“You’re here!”

A short guy appears before them, beaming at Jens before tilting his head at Lucas.

“And you actually brought cakes?”

“They’re called _petits-fours_ ,” Jens says, butchering the pronunciation, and Lucas bites back his laugh. “And of course I did. I said I would, didn’t I? This is Lucas. He made them.” He nudges Lucas with his elbow, still holding the box flat. “Luc, this is Robbe, my friend. It’s his engagement.”

“So you’re the baker!” Robbe says, and Lucas doesn’t miss the look Robbe throws at Jens. Jens, to his credit, seems to completely ignore him. “Jens talks about you all the time.”

At the way Jens clears his throat, Robbe amends his statement.

“I mean, he talks about your pastries all the time.”

Lucas glances at Jens, who seems to be taking in the room instead of paying attention to him. “Does he?”

“We should get these set out,” Jens says, raising the box, ignoring Lucas’ question.

“Zoe left you a spot,” Robbe says, leading them over to the table filled with other foods. There’s a little silver, tiered stand waiting, empty.

Jens is the first to open the box and start placing the cakes delicately on the stand. It makes Lucas smile, how careful he is about it.

“Those are beautiful,” Robbe says, sounding dutifully impressed, and Lucas can’t help the feeling of satisfaction that settles over him. “I can’t believe anyone can make those so perfectly.”

“Hey, I helped,” Jens speaks up from where he’s bent over rearranging cakes.

At Robbe’s surprised eyebrows, Lucas smiles.

“He turned on a mixer.”

“I also folded a box,” Jens protests, but Robbe nods understandingly.

“That makes sense.”

Jens straightens up, adding the last few cakes to the top tier. “You should be glad these are here at all. Lucas is literally the most amazing baker ever. He did all these in just a couple hours.”

“Wow,” Robbe says, but he doesn’t get much more out as a tall guy with brown hair sweeps in behind him, hugging Robbe around the stomach and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as Robbe giggles.

“Hey there, _fiancé_ ,” the guys says, pressing another kiss to Robbe’s cheek as Robbe grins.

“Sander, this is Lucas. He owns that bakery Jens told us about, and he made these awesome little cakes.” 

Sander peers over Robbe’s shoulder to the stand, making an impressed noise and nodding. “They look delicious.”

Robbe and Sander are adorable, Lucas finds himself thinking as Sander doesn’t let go of Robbe as he murmurs something into his ear. Glancing over at Jens, he finds Jens looking away, over the crowd instead.

“You should get a drink,” Robbe says, breaking through Lucas’ thoughts, his hand in Sander’s now. “Enjoy the party. I’m glad you came.”

Lucas just nods as Robbe and Sander head off to talk to someone else, leaving Lucas and Jens at the table filled with finger foods. They don’t take anything to eat, and Lucas turns to Jens.

“They seem happy.”

Jens nods after a second. “Yeah. They are.” He pauses, though, shaking his head. “I promised you booze, didn’t I?”

Lucas smiles slightly. “I guess you did.”

*

Lucas has met most of the guests now, though he won’t remember any names tomorrow. He’s already got a ton of people promising to stop by the bakery, and Sander has even suggested he make their wedding cake.

Standing by the window, Lucas gazes out at the twinkling lights of the city. Any other night, he would have been curled up on his couch, falling asleep in front of the TV by now. But he’s glad he’s not as Jens comes up beside him, setting his beer on the windowsill.

“I don’t think I’ve thanked you,” Jens says, quiet, and Lucas looks over.

“All this is thanks enough, I think,” Lucas replies, gazing back at the room filled with people laughing and talking. He’s gotten more business out of this party than he ever has in one day. All because Jens barged into his bakery with a very last-minute request.

“You didn’t have to help me,” Jens says, shaking his head. “You could have just told me to go away.”

“I wouldn’t,” Lucas says without thinking, biting his lip as he glances up at Jens. He could say he’d do it for anyone, but that wouldn’t be the truth.

“You wouldn’t?” Jens repeats, only slightly teasing, and Lucas’ face gets warm as Jens smiles at him.

Rolling his eyes, Lucas tries to be annoyed but he can’t quite, not with Jens grinning at him like that.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, being so pathetic and all.”

“Pathetic, huh,” Jens says. “I’ll remember that next time I need a favor.”

“Or you could just ask me ahead of time,” Lucas points out, and Jens nods slowly, and the space between them seems to disappear, but Lucas isn’t nervous now, not even with Jens so close, even with the way his heart rises in his chest, his skin tingling with anticipation as Jens licks his lips.

“I’m asking this ahead of time, then,” Jens says, quiet enough that only Lucas can hear him, being so close. “Do you want to go out with me some time?”

The swell of happiness rises in Lucas’ chest as he breaks into a smile. “I think I’d like that.”

Jens’ lips are soft against his when Jens finally leans in, tasting like frosting and beer, fingers gentle against his cheek as he tilts Lucas’ face up. Lucas can feel his smile as he kisses him back. Maybe that’s what this evening has been leading to. Or maybe it’s just a lucky bonus. Whatever it is, Lucas is glad it’s happening.

Jens kisses him again, softly, before he pulls back, reaching out to smooth Lucas’ curls back.

“It’s a date then,” he says, simply, and Lucas smiles as he nods.

“I guess so.”

Happiness settles over Lucas as Jens slides an arm over his shoulder, causally intimate. “Come on. Zoe wants to order something called a croquembouche for her New Years party.”

It isn’t the night he planned, Lucas admits as Jens leads him into the crowd, but it’s one he won’t forget, and one he never wants to.

*

FIN.


End file.
